


Meetings

by LazuliQuetzal



Series: those nighttime escapades [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Tim Drake is Oracle's Sidekick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4400567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazuliQuetzal/pseuds/LazuliQuetzal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim meets his heroes. It goes about as well as you'd expect.</p>
<p>(Which is to say, it didn't go well. At all.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meetings

1.

"Soo," Tim said, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "What are you going to teach me?"

Barbara Gordon – he still couldn't believe he was going to be learning from the  _original Batgirl_  – was casually typing something into Bruce's computer. So far, they hadn't really discussed anything yet. He shifted his weight, as though he still couldn't decide whether to be comfortable or nervous.

"Can you hack?" She asked him, and Tim jumped, startled.

He thought for a moment. "I know the basics," he shrugged.

"That'll have to do," Barbara said. "I'll teach you more on the job."

Tim blinked. "So... I'm not going to be another costumed hero flying around the city," he said slowly.

"Oh God, I hope not," Barbara said. "I don't need  _another_  one to keep track of. No, you're going to be... ah, what's the word?" She turned away from the screen and scratched her head.

"Assistant?" Tim suggested.

"Of a sort," Barbara agreed.

"Oh." Tim tilted his head, thinking about what being the Oracle's assistant would entail.

"I can't walk," Barbara lamented. "I learned to deal, but it gets in the way occasionally. So _you_ , my stealthy friend, are going to be my legs."

"Legs?" Tim asked.

"Exactly," She said. "Do you know how annoying it is when those damn Bats start asking me for favors? 'Hack this, Oracle', 'I need this, Oracle'. I'm a hacker, not a miracle worker. If they aren't on site feeding me information or establishing a connection, I can't help them." She scowled. "And somehow they never find the time to help  _me_  out. Dick still hasn't planted my chip into the Bludhaven police records, and he  _worked_  there! I mean, I could just hack it, but it's the  _thought_  that counts!"

Tim imagined himself breaking into company buildings and planting chips and viruses into their networks at Barbara's request.  _Well,_  he thought,  _I guess it's doable._

"There's also the problem of those old-style villains," Barbara continued. "I can get my hands on pretty much anything digital. But when it's analog..."

"You can't go on site to get it," Tim finished.

"Exactly," Barbara nodded. "Luckily, you already come equipped with stealth skills and camera know-how. You can sneak around the city. What you need to learn is how to sneak around other things – security cameras, motion sensors, thermal scanners, et cetera."

"And how are we going to do that?" Tim asked, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

Barbara grinned. "Meet your stealth instructor, Cassandra."

"Hello."

Tim jumped at the voice right by his ear. He whirled around, clutching his chest, and stared wide eyed at the person behind him.

She was a woman a bit older than himself, dressed in a full black outfit, and a smirk on her face.

"When did you -?" Tim stammered, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

Cassandra shot him a wide smile. "You do not pay attention," she said. "Been here since the beginning."

Tim blinked. "Oh."

"As you know, she's a former Batgirl," Barbara continued with a wicked smile. "She'll be teaching you self defense and stealth."

Cassandra beamed. Tim got the feeling this was going to be a lot more than Babs let on.

* * *

2.

Steph whistled as she ran across the rooftops. It was a slow night tonight. After a few minutes of pure, recreational freerunning, she decided to stop by Oracle's and have a chat with her mentor.

Still in a good mood, she made her way down to the basement of Barbara's building and entered. She caught sight of a figure sitting in front of the screens.

"Hey, Babs, got any -" she cut off.

Instead of Barbara, there was some random dude sitting at her normal spot, eating a piece of pizza. He froze, spun around in his swivel chair, and stared at her. There was still a pizza in his hand.

What the  _hell?_

It took a few moments for her to recognize him – Tim, from her Chemistry class. And somehow, that piece of information did not make this any less confusing.

"Shit," Tim muttered. "Ahh, um, are you looking for Oracle?"

Steph nodded mutely.

Tim scratched the back of his neck, an embarrassed blush making its way across his face. "She's in the, uh, bathroom."

Awkward silence.

"Um, would you like some, uh, pizza?"

"No, thank you," Steph said, remembering how to use her mouth. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I'm Tim," he said, answering none of her questions. He paused. "I'm in your chemistry class."

"No shit," Steph said. The full implications of that statement sunk in. "Wait, you  _know who I am_?!"

Tim didn't answer. He sat there, stammering in his chair. There was the sound of a flushing toilet, and both of their heads snapped up as Barbara Gordon wheeled into the room.

"Oh, hey Steph," she said cheerily.

"What the hell is going on?" Steph demanded.

"Stephanie, This is Tim. Tim, Steph. He's my new assistant."

"Assistant," Steph said slowly.

"Yep," Oracle said. "I need someone to run around doing my work, and you Bats are always too busy to do it."

"So... you hired... Tim?" Steph took a deep breath, trying to reconcile her weird, perpetually sleep-deprived classmate with this new ally.

"I wasn't hired," Tim protested.

"So how did you end up here?" Steph asked, curious.

To her surprise, Tim flushed and Barbara grinned mischievously.

"Was there anything you needed, Batgirl?" Tim asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

"Just wanted to see if O had anything for me," she shrugged. "But, ah, I think this is a story I want to hear."

"Damian caught him," Oracle said.

"Stupid demon brat," Tim scowled. "If he didn't cut open my shoulder with a batarang, you guys never would've found me."

"I'd have gotten you eventually," Oracle reassured him. "So, Steph, Batman and Robin called in yesterday, wanting information on this little stalker..."

Tim groaned and hid his blushing face in his hands.

Yeah, this was  _definitely_  a story Steph needed to hear.

* * *

3.

Tim shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the door to open. He glanced behind him, hoping that no one was home, but logic told him otherwise.

The door opened.

"Hello, Master Timothy," Alfred said, not looking very surprised to see him. "Come in."

"Thanks, Alfred," Tim said, entering Wayne Manor. It had been about two months since he stepped into the Batcave, and he hadn't really visited much since.

"I presume you're here to visit Master Damian," Alfred said, glancing at the object in his hands.

Tim scowled at the mention of the Demon Brat. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Perhaps I should warn you," Alfred muttered quietly. "The young man is not very open to visitors at the moment."

Tim clenched his fists, knowing that he was probably the last person Damian wanted to see right now.

But he had a theory about dealing with Damian Wayne, and that theory was this: interaction with the demon spawn was like ripping off a band-aid. You do it quickly and as soon as possible, before it gets all stuck on your problems.

"I'll have cookies for you when you're done," Alfred reassured him.

"Thanks, Alfred," Tim gave the butler a genuine smile. "You're the best."

"Good luck," Alfred said as Tim ascended the stairs.

He was definitely going to need it.

.

He knocked on the door twice before walking in. Instinctively, he ducked. A knife embedded itself in the wall behind him.

"Get out of my room, Drake."

Tim ignored him and moved closer. Another knife hit the floor just an inch away from his left foot.

"I said,  _get out._  Are you such an imbecile that you can't understand a basic command?"

"I know what you said, brat," Tim scowled at the boy.

"Then  _why are you still here?_ "

"First of all, I'm sorry I got your leg broken," Tim started.

Damian scowled, fingering another throwing knife.

"It's  _your_  fault, you pathetic excuse for a -"

"I know my weaknesses," Tim cut him off. "I accept responsibility for your injury. But I didn't come here to get insulted, I came here give  _this_  back." Tim scowled and place Damian's utility belt on the desk, not wanting to put more weapons within the brat's reach.

"Okay. Now leave," Damian commanded.

Tim took a deep breath. "No."

The boy glared at Tim. He met his gaze, unimpressed.

"What do you  _want,_ Drake?" Damian growled. "Are you really so scared that you waited for me to be incapacitated before confronting me?"

"I'm not scared of a murderous ten-year-old," Tim shot back. "But what I do want to know is: what is your problem?"

"What's  _your_  problem?" Damian shot back.

"Ever since Bruce let me into the Batcave, you've had this grudge against me. Why?"

"Because you're an idiot."

Tim waved his hands. "See, this is what I'm talking about! We've talked, like, five times since we met two months ago, and each conversation was less than three minutes long. Why do you hate me so much? I didn't do anything to you!"

Damian scoffed and turned away, ignoring Tim's presence.

Tim gritted his teeth. "Look, we hardly know each other. I don't know a whole lot about you, and you don't know much about me -"

"I know that you're a useless coward with abandonment issues," Damian muttered.

Tim blinked at that. "What did you say?" he asked, not sure if he head that right.

"I know about your parents," Damian taunted.

Tim froze.

"How you were  _so_  useless to them that they took every opportunity to get away."

Tim didn't answer, his breath hitching.

"An awful lot of 'business trips' all happening at the same time," Damian drawled. "How _little_  they must have cared for you. How they didn't even bother to get a proper caretaker for their  _only useless son._ "

"Shut. Up." Tim's fists curled into fists.

"How you started following Batman around just to get attention," Damain continued. "How you just wanted someone to  _notice_  you. The poor little Drake boy, with no friends -"

"SHUT  _UP!_ " Tim roared. His knuckles were white with strain, and he glared at boy in the bed.

Damian smirked at him. Tim was itching to punch the stupid smile off of the brat's face. Unfortunately, they both knew that Damian would win in any fist fight, broken leg or not.

But Tim had his own arsenal.

Completely forgetting Barbara's advice (Damian hasn't had a normal childhood, just be friendly and he'll open up to you –), he opened his mouth.

"You know what I think?" he said, his voice deceptively smooth. "I think you're just jealous."

"I know my worth," Damian scoffed.

"You're insecure," Tim repeated. "You brag all about being Bruce's son, Bruce Wayne's  _only true_  son, but the truth is you don't think you're his son at all. Because Dick, Steph, Cass – hell, even  _Jason Todd_  – they were all chosen by Bruce. Bruce took them in because he _wanted_ to take them in. But  _you,_  –"

A hint of satisfaction seeped into his cool voice. "You're an obligation. A duty. You're scared he doesn't actually want you."

Damian's eyes flashed. "That's a  _lie_."

"But it goes even deeper than that," Tim went on, not showing any mercy. "Even worse, you're scared that Bruce actually  _does_  want you. You're scared that he actually cares."

Tim leaned forward, ready to spit the final nail into the coffin.

"You're scared that he's trying so hard for you, and that he's going to be disappointed when he finds out his only son is just another violent, angry,  _murderous_  failure,  _just like the people he throws in jail._ "

Silence. Blue eyes glared at blue eyes. Two sneers on two different faces.

To his credit, Damian didn't pull out another knife. His hands were shaking with rage, and his eyes flashed dangerously, but otherwise, he didn't make any other move.

"Get out of my room, Drake," Damian said, the sheets of his bed bunched into his fists.

"Did I touch a nerve, brat?" Tim taunted, reveling in Damian's anger.

"I said,  _get out of my room._ "

"Get well soon,  _Damian,_ " Tim snapped, and he stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind him.

Damian took a steadying breath as Tim's footsteps grew fainter and fainter. His fingers twitched, itching to launch another knife at the door, but he doubted Alfred would appreciate the gashes in the expensive wood.

"Well played, Drake," he whispered to himself. "I guess you do have a backbone after all."

* * *

4.

Sometimes Dick really hated being the oldest. Or – no, he really hated having  _Batman_ as a father.

"Just couldn't say 'no', could you," he muttered to himself, as he drove himself towards Wayne Manor.

Bruce called him last night, saying that he had some important Justice League mumbo jumbo to take care of off-planet. He also mentioned that Damian had broken his leg, but he didn't mention how, and he needed someone to watch the kid and the city.

Personally, Dick was of the opinion that Steph, Cass, and the Birds of Prey were more than enough to keep Gotham under control for a week, but Bruce wanted him to keep an eye on his son. Dick supposed he shouldn't complain – Damian was a good kid once you got past the angry assassin stuff.

Dick entered the Manor with a grin, had a nice conversation with Alfred, and headed up to say hello to Damian. He paused outside Damian's room, noting a throwing knife embedded in the wall right outside the door. He took a deep breath and entered the room.

"I told you, go  _away -_ " Damian cut off. "Oh. It's you."

Dick grinned at his little brother and walked toward his bed. "Hey, Dami!"

"Don't call me that," Damian protested, but scooted over to give him space to sit down.

"So I heard you broke your leg," Dick stated, glancing at Damian's cast.

"It was Drake's fault," Damian grumbled. "He didn't move out of the way and I tripped over his useless body."

Dick blinked. "Drake?"

"Yes, him," Damian scowled. "The inept fanboy Gordon took into her care."

Dick stared. "I have no idea who you're talking about," he said slowly.

"Father didn't tell you," Damian observed. "Why are you here, then?"

"Bruce went off planet and told me to keep an eye on the city and you while he's gone," Dick said, already planning to yell at Bruce for not keeping him in the loop. "Although, he never mentioned any names, just said to keep an eye on the kid."

Damian rolled his eyes. "I do not require supervision. Drake, on the other hand, would probably die miserably if he didn't have someone watching his every move."

Dick was starting to feel sorry for this 'Drake' character. It took forever to get Damian to warm up to someone.

_Damn it, Bruce, can't you ever give anyone a heads up?_

"If Babs took him in, I'm sure he has potential," Dick reasoned. "I think I'd like to meet this 'Drake'."

"You missed him by an hour," Damian said.

Dick blinked. "He was... here?"

"Tt. Why do you think there's a knife in the hallway?"

"No, I mean – Bruce let a newcomer into Wayne Manor?" Dick asked. Bruce was honestly the most paranoid person he knew. There was  _no_  way he told a newcomer his secret identity.

"He knew before he met us," Damian dismissed it. "He's been stalking us for a while."

That settled it. Dick  _had_  to meet this kid.

And also have a talk with Bruce about communication, because the ass just up and left for space, leaving Dick to deal with this on his own.

.

Tim carefully lifted his camera and peered through the viewfinder. Babs didn't have any tasks for him, so tonight he had the freedom to do what he wanted. So far, he'd been wandering the city, looking out for a good case. For now, though, he'd found a great view of the Gotham Clock tower, and was currently hanging off the edge of a building to get it.

Thanks to his association with Barbara Gordon, he had access to much better supplies and ammunition. He kept his faithful camera – the same one he'd used back when Steph first started her Robin run – but he no longer had to lug everything around in his backpack. Barbara spoiled him with top-of-the-line camera supplies that could fit into his sleeves.

It was a warm, black, waterproof jacket with several hidden pockets to hold SD cards, lenses, and a few weapons that Babs demanded he carry with him. There was a large hood that obscured his entire face when up, but Barbara insisted upon a domino mask well. And finally, a dark green outline of a bat was stitched upon the back, to identify him in case he ran into the other Bats of Gotham.

Green, because it was the same color as Barbara's Oracle icon. Tim personally had a preference for red, but it could be a bit eye-catching, which was pretty much what he wanted to avoid as a stealth agent.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and Tim shifted the camera around, aiming his view at a new figure. He squinted, trying to make out the figure in the shadows. It seemed to be male, with dark hair and a flash of blue -

Tim's stomach flopped.

The figure was leaping across the rooftops, steadily drawing closer to his location. Despite himself, Tim began categorizing the acrobatic twists – triple somersault, backflip, back handspring, front-flip with a half-twist. The figure let out an exuberant, familiar laugh, betraying his joy at being able to dance across the rooftops of Gotham.

Tim was too busy trying to calm his breathing. The last time he'd seen Nightwing, he'd been standing two feet away, trying to convince him to come back and be Robin. And he didn't do it. He'd been too scared.

He'd told Barbara and the Bats how he'd discovered who they were, but he never mentioned his self-appointed mission to get Batman a Robin. As far as they knew, Stephanie's and Bruce's meeting was an accident, and Tim had never talked to Dick Grayson before.

Crap. He should've known this was coming. Bruce was off-planet, after all, and Damian had a broken leg. Of  _course_  Bruce's eldest would return to Gotham to visit.

He returned to reality: Nightwing had landed at the edge of his alley. Tim was hidden in the shadows, unseen, and he watched as Nightwing muttered something, his hand on his ear. Probably talking to someone.

Tim debated with himself for a moment before pulling out the small tablet Barbara had gotten him. He needed to practice hacking anyway, and why not try on a live line?

After a few seconds, he was in.

"... see anyone," Nightwing was saying. "I thought you said he was here?"

"He is," Barbara said, and Tim blinked. "Probably hiding. Kid's almost as stealthy as Black Bat."

Tim looked up and saw Nightwing looking around.  _Me,_  Tim realized.  _They're talking about me?_

"Well, she's hard to find even when she's not trying," Nightwing scowled. "And speaking of hiding, why didn't you tell me you took on a kid of your own?"

"It was B's job to tell you," Barbara informed him. "I take it you didn't know?"

Nightwing pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not until Damian started complaining about him."

Tim sucked in a breath. He'd visited Damian earlier today and might have ruined any hope for a friendship for good with that argument. Which means anything Dick would hear about him would have come from the Demon Brat's mouth.

"Hey, Nightwing," Barbara's voice drifted through the comm.

"Yeah?"

"Turn around."

_Damn it, Babs!_ Tim mentally cursed his mentor.

Nightwing suddenly whipped around and stared right at him. Tim froze on the spot, because Dick Grayson, Nightwing of Bludhaven, the original Robin, and one of the  _Flying-fucking-Graysons_  was  _right in front of him_.

"Shouldn't have hacked the line," Barbara laughed into the comm. "I'll leave you two to it."

Barbara cut the line, leaving Tim and Nightwing to stare at each other.

"Uh, hi," Nightwing said, breaking the silence with an easy grin. "I'm Nightwing."

"Can I have your autograph?" Tim blurted out.

The words hung in the air for a few moments before Tim realized what he said. He clapped his hands over his traitorous mouth and winced.

"...That was  _so not what I meant to say,_ " he said, in a near whisper.

And, to his horror – Nightwing  _laughed._

Tim screwed his eyes shut, an embarrassed blush making its way across his face. Why was he such a nerd? Couldn't he talk to  _anyone_  without – without –

"It's not funny!" Tim protested weakly, eyes still closed.

Nightwing stopped laughing – slowly, but he stopped. Tim appreciated the effort.

"I'm sorry, I just –" Nightwing snickered slightly, "– wasn't expecting that."

Tim took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "Okay, let's start over. Hi. I'm..." he trailed off, realizing that he didn't exactly have a codename. Tim didn't really name himself, and Barbara just gave him random codenames on the spot.

Nightwing looked at him expectantly.

"I don't really have a codename?" It came out as more of a question than a statement.

"...No codename," Nightwing said, disbelieving.

Tim shrugged. "I don't really interact with... the criminals... so, no, they don't really call me anything."

Nightwing looked confused for a second before he took on a determined expression. "I'm going to give you a codename!"

"...What?"

Nightwing grinned, and he patted Tim on the shoulder. "Everyone needs a codename. And I'll be in Gotham for about two weeks. That's plenty of time to get to know the latest addition to the family and come up with a super awesome codname... like the Gray Ghost!"

Tim blinked. "As in, that character from that old TV show?"

"No, as in  _you._ "

...Was this seriously his childhood hero, his idol? "One, that name's already taken. Two, there's literally no gray in my costume," he said, gesturing to his all-black ensemble with the hint of green.

"Just 'Ghost', then."

Tim didn't even have anything to answer that.

"Spectre?"

"That's a villain."

"Photon."

"Photon?"

"You know, because you're a  _photo_ grapher."

"... Uh, no."

"It'll grow on you, Photon. Hey, let's go to Oracle's and brainstorm and bond over pizza," Nightwing suggested.

Pizza with  _Dick Grayson?_  Pizza with his hero, with his idol, with his inspiration? If that meant putting up with ridiculous codenames, he'd do it a thousand times over. Tim nodded excitedly.

Nightwing grinned. "I'm sure O has a pen, so I can give you my autograph."

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on fanfiction.net


End file.
